


Without You

by ironiccowboykink



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anger, Angst, Blood, Blood and Violence, Confusion, His husband and coran, Hurt/Comfort, Langst, M/M, Pining, Torture, Violence, and everyone else too but whatever..., coran has a hubby and I lov him, even tho alteans prolly have no concept of gay, gay coran, hes a small boy too good for this world, just to clarify, save him?? Lol yea someone save my son, save lance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:28:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11249136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironiccowboykink/pseuds/ironiccowboykink
Summary: Lance is captured by the Galra and the Paladins grow restless without him.





	1. Lance

The first thing Lance noticed was how damp it always was in his cell.

His skin felt slimy, and salty, and raw. Water dripped from some undetermined point in the ceiling — there were no lights in here, and as far as Lance knew, the water wasn't landing on _him_ — but this cell was... disgusting, to say the least. It smelled moldy and wet, and his chains — dear _God,_ these filthy chains, these filthy, wet chains, chafing his wrists all the _fucking time_ — made him feel sick. It was so quiet here, so dark here, so... wet, here.

His shoulders burned from their position. His legs trembled and ached, but he couldn't sit. Lance had tried to rest one and popped his shoulder out the socket. No one came to fix it for three feedings. It burned like a motherfucker for sure, but what hurt more was the fact that he depended on the Galra now. 

The only time he sees any light is when the Galra feed him. He can't — he can't quite keep up with the schedule, since it's, it's probably irregular. He can't tell. It's the same soldier every time, but the time it takes for him to get food seems to stretch even further and further. Or, or sometimes it seems like only a few hours between feedings, which was totally degrading, by the way. They didn't let him use his hands. That stupid soldier taunted him for however fucking long, bringing the slop close to his face before taking it back again. 

Lance has learned the soldier will not tease him if he stays silent. If he stares absentmindedly to the wall. If he lets the soldier press the spoon to his face, refuse to open his mouth, he gets fed with no issues. Now the soldier simply grips his jaw and makes sure he takes whatever's his meal down his throat. The soldier used to strike him, demand he get something out of this experience. ("Aww, c'moooon, Blue! Can't a guy have a little _fun?"_ ) But now he glares and does his duty to make sure Lance is on the edge of keeling over. Sometimes Lance feels _guilty,_ like he's obligated to give these fuckers anything at all, and then he feels guilty for thinking this way. He doesn't trust them; he learned that, too, when the soldier came in once with a plate of food but simply beat him till he passed out and left the plate an inch out of arms reach.

All he does now is wait. 

_\-------------------------------  
_ Lance discovers he has been here for several weeks. No less than five but no more than twenty. He discovers he has had his eyes closed, too, (for how long?) when the door opens and purple light filters past his eyelids. "Get up." A gruff voice greets him, and Lance's eyebrows furrow. "I'm already standing," he shoots back, but is met with a growl. "Shut it, prisoner. You're being transferred." 

"Where?" Lance is so tired. So very tired. His legs tremble and his knees knock together. 

The grip on his arm tightens. "Didn't I tell you to be _quiet?"_

Lance just nods. He suddenly feels very, very tired. 

_\--------------------------------  
_ It's another dark, dark room. At least now his skin is dry, but he never got the chance to actually dry off. To clean. His skin feels so dirty. So, so dirty. His fingers twitch. Lance wants to scratch his skin, gets vivid images of him scratching till his fingernail breaks and his skin bleeds, but his hands are behind his back now and he can't do anything but sit. He's too tired to scratch, too tired to do anything but feel his skin crawl. His legs ache. His body aches. His arms ache. His stomach growls. There's been no cycles here so far. His arms are crossed behind his back, palms facing the ceiling. His legs are bound together at the ankles, curled underneath him. Lance's head hangs low. It aches, too.

"They'll come for me," he croaks, but there is no one to hear him, and maybe there never was. 

"They'll _come_ for me," he repeats, with conviction, but there is no one here to hear him. There is no one here to convince but himself. "Maybe there never was." Lance bites his lip, refuses to cry. _"They'll come for me,"_ he whispers it like a mantra, but he finds himself forgetting just who _they_ are. Lance hopes they, his Paladins? Yes, his _Paladins,_ his _friends,_ his saviors. He hopes they will not forget him. 

Lance cries. He doesn't want to forget Hunk and Keith And Shiro and Pidge and Allura but all he can think about is how much his body hurts, how much _he_ hurts, and the rumblings in his belly and where his bayard is and — he sobs, openly now. Lance licks his tears. He doesn't know when he'll get water again. He images Keith. Pale skin. Dark hair. Blue eyes. 

Or maybe they were gray. _I, I can't remember. Just— just keep going. Okay, Hunk. Yellow. Yellow yellow yellow. Paladin. Yellow Paladin. Yellow Lion. All I can see is... yellow._

Lance clenches his fists, squeezes his eyes shut tighter and ignores the headache blooming behind his eyelids. _The girl. Not Allura but the other one. The small girl. What's her name.. God, what's her name?_ Lance shakes his head and moves on. Part of him fears he will never remember who she is, but all he knows is green. Maybe they're a boy, or maybe they're a girl, or maybe they're both or maybe they're nothing at or all or maybe there wasn't anybody in the first place and Lance is just _crazy_ and all these "Paladins" the Galra keep talking about aren't real and— No. Remember green. Remember gray. Green and gray, or maybe black, or maybe a tuft of white in a sea of dark. Strong arms but a stronger voice and maybe that's the leader. _Black,_ he thinks. There is someone out there and they will rescue me. 

Lance nearly sobs in relief when suddenly _Hunk Lance Shiro Pidge Keith Allura Coran_ (How could he forget Coran? He misses him so much.) strike him like lightning and he knows he will remember them another day. And they, Green and Black and Red and Yellow, will remember him too.

Lance decides he hates the Galra. He scoots back to the wall, takes a deep breath, and rests.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk misses his friend.

The first thing Hunk noticed was the silence.

It's been three days (three!) without Lance, and it wasn't exactly _quiet,_ per say, but it was distinctly non-Lance around the castle. Everyone was considerably more quiet without him prancing around, bickering good-naturedly or picking harmless fights. (They were all arguably lost within themselves, falling far too easily back into bad habits Lance was working oh so subtly to break. Lance will be so disappointed when he comes back.) Hunk knew better than anyone how Lance worked to keep everybody from falling apart (in fact, he may be the only person who _does_ know); his absence was impacting... everyone. Especially Hunk. /p >

Hunk, who felt like part of him was missing, and that part was Lance. Hunk, who hadn't eaten right since he docked his lion in the castle and found Lance was nowhere to be seen. Hunk. The two had been together forever-- they were practically joined at the hip. Lance had been his shoulder when Hunk struggled to adjust to Garrison life and Hunk had been Lance's rock as he fell time and time again in his journey to be himself. The two were each other's constants. Out of all the people that would come and go, out of all the things that would change, Lance and Hunk would always have each other's backs. Friends. 

Forever. 

But there was no one here for him now. Realistically, yes, there _was,_ he had Keith and Pidge and perhaps even Shiro, but they... they weren't Lance. There was no one here to pat him on the back and say _"Good job, buddy!",_ or try his foods, or comfort him when he misses home. 

In space, Lance _was_ his home.

\---------------------

Hunk used to stay up late at night when he first came to the Garrison.

He was not used to the silence, much like Lance. (They found a strange sort of comfort in that, in knowing that there was unfamiliarity in the quiet.) Lance helped Hunk ease into these moments, when everyone wound down after curfew.

 _"It was never really quiet in my house," Hunk admitted. "I mean, it was_ quiet, _but not like this, y'know? Floor boards creaking and all that stuff. Sometimes the wind, sometimes the rain." They're silent for a moment, like they don't really know what to say to each other, but just listening to nothing was enough. Hunk coughs. "Um, thanks, Lance, you know, for, for helping me and stuff, 'cause I was never really alone as a kid, so this is totally new to me, you're so nice for letting me adjust and--" Lance's hand flaps down at him from the top bunk. "Tsuyoshi, buddy, breathe. It'll be perfect, I know it." Lance's voice sounds heavy with sleep, but the fact that he took time to reassure Hunk-- half awake, no less -- that everything will be okay warms him a little. "Uh, Lance?" Hunk twiddles his fingers._

_"Hmmm?"_

_"You're a good friend." Hunk's voice is low. He sounds unnaturally somber even to his own ears._

_Lance just offers Hunk his hand, hums in sleepy affirmation. "We'll get through this, 'Suyoshi. Friends stick through stuff together."_

_Hunk liked the sound of that. Together._

But now he's gone, and they can't warp until the Castle's teludav is fixed. Until the _Castle_ is fixed, really; the rapid series of warps drained Allura and the Castle, and the heavy fire they sustaiend without the shields on almost destroyed it. Everything is down. They'll be lucky if there's working water by tomorrow; there's so many systems to repair and there's only four people who can do it— Coran and Pidge have been working themselves to the bone to get everything back online. If Lance were here, he would encourage them to get the job done. He would make sure, that, while they take care of the castle, they take care of themselves. It's what he's always done. (It seems, in space, that the tides have turned.)

Hunk occasionally considers remaking the scaltrite cookies; they worked well enough the first time (at what cost, though?). Hunk's back itches with phantom pain, a reminder of the burn he suffered. The Paladins have no time to wait for injuries to heal. (Hunk will just have to wait.) He grimaces, turning sideways to look forlornly at Pidge, who was busy fiddling with the Castle's inner machinery. The Paladin sighs, twiddles a wrench in his hands. His back is cold against the floor (or maybe the floor is cold against his back. Is Lance cold right now?). 

"Pidge, when do you think we'll fix the Castle?" 

Silence. For only a few beats, but it's enough. Pidge doesn't know. She can only guess.

"Soon, Hunk," she replies, and doesn't elaborate further. Hunk knows why. This is the third time he's asked. Today. He knows the answer won't change. Not soon. It's more to reassure him that his friend will be okay. Had Lance been captured by anybody else, Hunk wouldn't have worried so much. But this is the Galra. A defender of the universe? In the hands of someone who wishes to destroy it? Hunk has no reason _not_ to worry for his friend. His _Lance._

He can't help but ask again, though. "Are you sure?"

Pidge huffs. Tries not to be annoyed. She understands his concern, his worry, why he's so desperate to reach Lance. He needs to know this, though. "Hunk, you aren't the only one worried. We all miss Lance, alright? And you want to get home, yes?" Pidge powers on. She already knows the answer to that question. 

"Right! So, what _you_ need to do," she says, like some kind of unsaid accusation, "is help us. Faster this stupid castle gets repaired the faster we find Lance. (For a moment, she is uncharacteristically grim. It's over before Hunk can say anything.) Then we kick some Galra ass!" Hunk has half a mind to outwardly doubt her, but he passes the wrench off to Pidge and meanders off to be useful for a while.

Hunk is quiet while he works. A few tears slip down his cheeks but he doesn't wipe them away. He has no one to talk to in this lonely corridor; even if he did have someone to talk to, he doesn't want to talk to anybody unless they have something _useful_ to say pertaining to Lance. It's dark in this hallway, and he grips a tiny flashlight in his teeth. His jaw aches from holding it for so long, but his heart aches a tad bit more.

He wonders where he is now. Lance. Where the Galra could have taken him. The ship that took him could be in any galaxy right now, and he could be cold, and alone, and— and— _scared._ And here's Hunk, just loafing around! (He knows he's not being totally useless... and Lance wouldn't like to hear him say that anyway.) He knows he's doing his best to find Lance in his own way, but he still feels like it's not _enough._ Hunk just wants his friend back.

__

__

The power flickers back online, eventually. Hunk stashes the flashlight away for another time and stumbles to his feet. Heads to Lance's room. Just to sleep there for one more night. He'll be back soon.

\------

His footsteps seem louder when he's alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness! Sorry it took me so long, and sorry this chapter is so... all over the place. I was trying my best to write at least 1000 words, and I fear I've never been the best writer in the first place :x
> 
> tell me what you think! share ur theories and thoughts. comments are my lifeblood

**Author's Note:**

> wooooooooooo im gonna try to not butcher this like every other fic ive written :Y


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